


If Cooler Heads Prevail

by theleaveswant



Category: Farscape
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Genderqueer Character, Object Insertion, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius kinking on the machine in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Cooler Heads Prevail

**Author's Note:**

> For the "object penetration" square on my 2010 Kink Bingo card.

Scorpius leaned back into the chair with a sigh as the medtech triggered the release on his intra-cranial cooling system. He was quite satisfied with his decision to appoint this one as his latest personal attendant. Zie had a delicate touch. He watched from the corner of his eye as those nimble fingers retrieved the spent rod and transferred it to the waste disposal unit. He had, as yet, found no cause for complaint regarding any of the other . . . services the tech performed for him, but this was the one he most valued.

He attuned to the tickle of air inside his head, disturbed by the motions of the medtech dabbing at the collected fluid and fitting the fresh coolant rod into the carriage. He breathed shallowly, willing himself to wait. He would not break the hand that cared for him. The thin metal vibrated slightly as the cooling rod clicked into place, then the tech's fingers withdrew. Scorpius hissed as the carriage began to retract, tunnelling into his skull, the action of its tiny motors reverberating through his bones and rattling his teeth. He shut his eyes as the pressure built, built and eased off with an expulsion of compressed air, tiny jets around the containment ring ejaculating in sequence, pf-pf-pf-pf. The click of the carriage locking into place inside his head sent a tremor along his jaw and down his spine. Eyes still closed, Scorpius waited for the thick, solid feeling of having the system inside him, invading him, filling him up to be drowned out by the numbing burning crashing chill, then shuddered with relief when this gave way to pleasant tingling and a more manageable cool.

He thought it satisfyingly ironic that his loathsome Scarran heritage should provide the means of its own containment. It was, after all, the Scarran influence on his cranial architecture that had permitted Tocot to install the cooling system into the base of his skull with minimal alteration to his cerebral geography or damage to the nerves and muscles of his face. A pure Sebacean would have been unlikely to survive the extensive surgeries without a severe reduction of faculties. It was this knowledge, that he had faced the risk to bring his pedigree to heel, and the feeling of control it gave him—over his body, over his future, over all those who had not the courage or determination to correct the flaws in their own biological substance—that Scorpius found pleasurable, even more than the feast of sensations.

Granted, the system was not without flaws. The rods eventually expended, the more rapidly when animal passions like wrath and lust fuelled his Scarran furnace, and the machine was not immune to malfunction, putting him at the mercy of inferior assistants like the one kneeling patiently at his feet right now. Growling, Scorpius grabbed a handful of the medtech's hair and craned hir head back, looking into those frightened yellow eyes. His face softened into an approving smile and he let the creature go, rising to his feet and striding toward the door of the chamber with a dismissive wave.

If he could upgrade the system to one that did not require manual replenishment, would he? Without question. Such a vanquishing of dependence would be worth any price. But he would, he recognized this, miss the sick thrill of these scattered moments of vulnerability, the rush of power he felt when the chink in his armour, the wound in his body, was once again sealed and protected. Best, in that case, to enjoy such experiences while they lasted. One never knew when the universe might next conspire to turn up the heat.

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: Machine. In head. Scorpy is not a nice person. Vitriol towards his Scarran pedigree may be read as self-directed racism on the part of a person of mixed ancestry (oh speculative fictions, how you expose, obscure and also contribute to the problems we live with), no offense is intended.


End file.
